Our Little Infinity I Call Miracle
by WickedNotes
Summary: One-shot on Hazel's thoughts after Gus' death and how she managed to cope with it, their 'little infinity's' birth and Hazel's eventual death. One-shot, rated K , Haugustus.


Sometimes, when I'm lonely, I lie on the grass in my pyjamas and I look up at the stars and count them. All eighteen of them; always eighteen; and I cant help but think that those stars and Gus have two things in common: They are both exceedingly bright and beautiful to look at.

Beautiful. It was the first thing he called me that day at Support Group, how could I forget. It made me smile (albeit because I was slightly freaked out by his half-blunt way of telling me this) for the first time in a long time.

Yet there's always eighteen stars. One more star than I need, no I _want,_ to see. Eighteen. One more (year) than Augustus Waters ever had. Maybe the last star is Gus- the biggest and the brightest and the most beautiful one of them all.

He was seventeen when he died. Seventeen years of being treated differently, like the Side Effects we all were.

We were all just side effects. But, of course, we already knew that. How _couldn't_ we? It's the first thing we know when the cancer strikes, and the last thing we think of once it's gone (but it's never _truly_ gone), or _we're_ gone. Oblivion always catches up to us no matter how strong, wise, _needed_ we are. Oblivion always wins. _Always._

'_I cannot tell you how thankful I am for our little infinity. I wouldn't trade it for the world_._ Because if I did, then we wouldn't have what you gave me. We wouldn't have_ her.'

It's this thought that motivates me. It's this thought that I repeat in my head like a mantra every single day and night that gets me though. I look up at that same night sky over and over again and I think that same thing. Over and over and over... Until I cant breath.

"Finally."

* * *

After Gus had died and the funeral had finished and the sky had gone from blue to black, Hazel laid on the grass and thought. Flitted through the memories and all the little 'infinities' that Gus had left for her and remembered.

See, different people have different ways of dealing with a love one's death. Some drink and smoke and do drugs- anything to get rid of the pain, really. Some people attend church, worship a god and walk through the Holy Path of life. And others, they forget, the opposite of what she was doing. They throw their possessions away, give it to charity, or burn them. They dispose of all pictures and anything that reminds them of their loss and they forget. A grieving often chose by the weak or the scared and hurt.

Hazel, she remembers, it's her form of grieving and she knows that if the roles were reversed (which, in all fairness, she had always thought would happen in the end), Gus would do the same.

So she laid on the grass and remembered. She remembered their first bumping into each other at Support Group. She remembered his fears of Oblivion and him wanting to be remembered. She remembered their tour of Amsterdam, the Annex, their first date, first kiss and what happened _after._ After. That After had created their _little infinity_. That After had given Hazel one last memory; a ghost of his soul; of Gus.

That little infinity, after nine agonising months, and one painful labour, was born into this world. That little infinity was a miracle. A true miracle was born that night, all eighteen stars present and twinkling down on them both.

"Miracle. That's her name, Mom," Hazel had insisted (wheezing a bit) the minute the little bundle of pink and cream blankets were placed into her willing arms. "Our little Miracle, Gus," she had whispered.

And she was.

Well, that's what Mom used to tell me. My Mom- Hazel Grace Lancaster- she died a few months ago. The cancer had finally decided enough was enough. Finally- those were her last words she spoke. She spoke them at the dark sky that night and smiled.

Other than my birth and my father, she spoke of the stars. She said, if I looked hard enough and counted, there would always be eighteen. I counted that night and every night after her death. She was wrong.

There were nineteen. Nineteen stars, two bigger and brighter than the other seventeen.

* * *

_Okay,_ no hating on this one-shot. I seriously had no intention of writing a TFIOS one-shot (the theme is just to saddening), but after watching it yesterday, I couldn't help myself. I had too, sue me! I wrote this literally last night when I couldn't sleep at all, just so you know why it probably seems crap.

I haven't read any tfios fics before, so if this sounds like anything you've read before, I assure you I've never heard of it, nor did I copy it off anyone.

Oh yes! Before I forget, disclaimer... NOW! - - - - - › **I do not own The Fault in our Stars, all rights go to John Green for creating this wonder of a book and for being just generally Awesome- THANKS GREEN!**

Reviews and whatnot are appreciated, flames not so much.


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